A Curtain Slowly Closing
by Miss Pseudonymous
Summary: Mr. Thornton visits Margaret in London. Don't kill me for this one.


**~ ~ ~ A Curtain Slowly Closing ~ ~ ~**

Mr. Thornton walked briskly through the London streets, his heart pounding in his throat. He had not seen Margaret for over a year, but she had financed his mill and saved him from ruin. On this first trip to London since the memorable visit to the Great Exhibition, he felt it was his duty to call on her and thank her personally. He would not admit to himself that he hoped for anything more.

He knocked at the door on Harley Street. "My name is John Thornton. Is Miss Hale at home?"

The butler's schooled impassive expression betrayed a hint of surprise. "Mr. Thornton? Please come in."

After waiting in the hall for an interminable two minutes, he was directed to a large well-lit sitting room.

He saw her silhouette at the window as he entered – poised, regal as ever – and felt again for a moment as he had upon their first meeting – rough and uncouth in every limb. She turned to him smiling however, and said, "Mr. Thornton." Was it sadness in her voice? Nostalgia for the life she had led in Milton, and of which his presence reminded her?

"Miss Hale," he said, coming up take her hand.

She extended it with almost deliberate speed, and as he took it he noticed a simple gold ring around her fourth finger. He snapped his head up to look at her, and his breath caught as he stepped back forcefully. When he recollected himself and gently released her hand, she slowly placed it on her belly. He had been too occupied with remembering her face to have noticed, but it was unmistakable.

"Mrs. Lennox." She explained.

He stood there for an eternity, just staring at her. She did not smile. She seemed to pity him, or else why the forlorn expression on her lovely face? Abruptly, he turned his back to her and walked to the mantelpiece. He leaned against it for a moment as the physical pain ripped through his entire being. He turned back to her and steeled himself.

"Forgive me. I… offer my congratulations. Mr. Lennox is a brilliant and talented man. I am sure you will be – you are – very happy." He spoke in a dead voice, the result of trying too hard to steady his emotion.

Tears sprang to her eyes. "You do not approve."

He did not know what to make of this. "You have never cared for my opinion, Madam."

She couldn't bear his coldness, his rigid formality. He had walked in a friend, and was now a stranger. "Of course I did. We argued on many points, but I always considered you an esteemed friend."

He smiled ruefully. "A friend?"

"You were the only true friend we had in Milton."

"You forget the Higgins's."

"I thought you would not like me to mention them – you never approved of my associating with the working class."

This made him smile. "I am good friends with Nicholas now. He works for me as supervisor – which reminds me of my mission; I came here to offer you my thanks in person for financing the mill last summer."

She blushed and looked down – strange behavior for a woman who had merely conducted a business transaction. "It is you who are doing me the service. But tell me, how is Nicholas?"

"He is well, he asked me to inquire about you. He particularly wished to know if the matter with your… brother was resolved." He said this hesitantly, delicately.

She gasped and took a step back. "My brother! You know of him!"

"Yes, Nicholas told me."

"When did he tell you?" She demanded.

"After you left Milton." His voice was low and mournful.

She put her hands together and pleaded. "Can you forgive me now? For my grave sin, for lying to protect him? You understand now that I had no choice, that it was life or death. Please say you forgive me!"

"Forgive you? It is not mine to forgive. You have not wronged me."

"But you despised me for it! I shall never forget the contempt in your eyes, how you judged me. I couldn't bear it."

He watched her smooth, delicate hands as she wrung them and wiped the tears from her beautiful face. The ring glinted on her slender finger.

His raised his eyes to look at her. "I knew you must have been in some grave trouble, that you must have the best of reasons to act as you did, though of course I could never have imagined it to be as justified a cause as it turned out to be. I helped in the only way I could without understanding the situation."

This did not decrease her agitation. "But you scolded me outright for impropriety! I cried for months recalling how you glared at me then."

He raised his eyebrows. "Forgive me, I had no idea of my words being taken in such a way. At the time I was laboring under a false impression which made me cross and injudicious."

"That I had lied?"

"No, that I knew and attributed to some vital extraordinary cause to which I was not privy. What I had misunderstood was your walking with your brother in the early evening – I am ashamed to think of it now, but I had no idea at all that you had a brother, and when I saw you on his arm, with an evident expression of adoration on your face, I… you can imagine what a man in my position would think."

She blushed crimson as realization dawned. "You thought he was a lover." She turned away to lean against the window and whispered, "Oh my God what you must think of me."

He took two steps toward her, but could bring himself to go no farther. "Please, Miss..." He swallowed, "Mrs. Lennox, it was ridiculous of me, I am sorry to have brought it up – I thought to excuse my harshness but I have only made it worse – forgive me."

She was sobbing quietly, whispering to herself, "Of course. He despised me. To imagine I could… I was foolish to think… he was glad to see me go, and not a word since… Foolish, foolish!"

He was in agony thinking he had brought her to this, and hoped no one would enter the room and see what he had done. He stepped closer to her. "Please, Mrs…" he couldn't say it again, "Please sit down, you will… distress… the child."

Disturbed from her thoughts into the present only made her start and sob harder. She did sit down though, and he stood a few feet behind her chair. He spoke quietly and soothingly. "Forgive my recalling this painful episode. But your distress is unnecessary – be assured that I did not for a moment think you possible of any impropriety or lack of decorum. I knew you to be virtuous and beyond any shadow of suspicion. It was my jealousy that made me harsh with you – it was not –."

She turned in her chair to look up at him with tear-stained cheeks. "Jealousy?" she asked quietly.

He knit his brows. "Yes."

She was silent for a long time. "You had said… you no longer cared for me."

He exhaled. "I did."

She looked straight into his eyes, trying to find the truth but not knowing how to ask. He felt this but felt too the impossibility of a full explanation.

"I think that perhaps it is not wise to speak of… this… in the present circumstances."

She attempted a smile. "It is all in the past now. What harm is there in speaking of it?"

"In the past." He agreed, though his eyes betrayed a different truth.

She tried again. "You were still… jealous? You still cared?"

Cautiously, "Yes."

"Why did you not tell m e?"

He laughed, a bitter but amused laugh, "And risk a repetition of your polite and unequivocal reply to my first declaration! That is really a bad joke."

She winced at this. "But you must have known that I would not have… responded like that! You must have known that I had… changed?" Her voice dropped as she saw the confusion and beginning of astonishment in his face.

"You… would not have rejected me?"

She shook her head gently, "No."

"You would have… accepted?"

Her eyes brimmed with tears as she whispered, "Yes."

He was absolutely speechless. He stood for a full minute attempting to understand this truth and reconcile it with the past year, her present state, and the terrible, agonizing pain that was consuming him every moment he stood in her presence. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She stood up. "And is it the custom now for the ladies to propose marriage to the gentlemen?"

He was suddenly conscious that he was standing too close to her and took a few steps back. "You did not expect me to run a fool's errand again, and propose to a beautiful and proud girl who showed every sign of despising me!"

"What could I have done? What could I have said to make you see?" She was miserable, desperate. "If you truly loved me you would have been waiting for a sign, you would have seen my remorse and my affection!"

He was incredulous. "I saw you embracing another man after dark! What else was there to see? I was blind with rage and jealousy!" He lowered his voice. "But I loved you! I loved you so intensely that I stepped back! I allowed you your lie, allowed you your secret, thinking that I was preserving your happiness!"

She bit her lip. He quietly continued, "What is this then?" He gestured to her hand, to her, to the house. "I might ask the same. If you returned my feelings, why were you so quick to marry another?"

At this she trembled and shook her head as if to erase the truth of what she said. "I was alone – my mother, my father – I was wretched and despairing – not a word from you other than a formal business-like note of gratitude, not even addressed to me, but to my lawyer! And he loved me and promised to take care of me – what could I do? I had no hope, I saw no alternative!"

"You left Milton without a backward glance, and I was to come after you?"

Her body shook with sobs, the tears of misunderstanding, of unnecessary anguish, of inevitability. The agony of what could have been.

He recollected himself first. He pressed his hands to his eyes and breathed deeply, straightening his back and willing himself to maintain, or return to, propriety. She had been lost to him long ago – he had reconciled himself to this a long time ago, and despite his absurd hopes had always known that it was idle fantasy. He was calm now and resigned.

"I must go."

She shuddered as she looked up at him, eyes wide, not ready.

They stood yards away from each other, she by the window, he by the fireplace. Sunlight filtered through the windows and shared the space between them with their unspoken thoughts. He thought of taking her hand one last time, of telling her he loved her still. She thought of confiding in him, admitting that she was not happy, that she regretted her decision. He thought of suggesting friendship, the possibility of further interaction. She thought of extending an invitation to stay. But none of these things could be spoken aloud. They were irreparably separated and must always be strangers. They were both conscious of the improprieties already committed and the necessity of ending the interview cleanly and respectably.

"Goodbye, Mr. Thornton."

"Goodbye." He looked at her one last time as if to memorize her face forever, bowed, and left the room.

She waited by the window and watched him leave the house and walk down the street. He did not turn back and she drew the curtain closed.

He strode down the street hurriedly, as if to get away from his pain, from her. He wrestled with himself, but finally succumbed and turned back for one last look.

She was not there. But he thought perhaps he saw a curtain slowly closing.

* * *

_Please take a moment to review - constructive criticism welcome - I am trying to improve my writing._

_Thanks to Golden Sunflower for editing and encouragement._


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